


Hot Streak

by peridotsarelongterm



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Comforting Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Crush at First Sight, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Infidelity, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Post-Break Up, Rating May Change, Reader-Insert, Romance, Secret Crush, Slow Burn, Soft Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Swearing, Time Travel, ok definitely will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peridotsarelongterm/pseuds/peridotsarelongterm
Summary: You’ve had a hard time fitting in on the Enterprise, but your luck is about to change. When your friend goes missing in the Guardian of Time, this time in Atomic Age Las Vegas, you, Kirk, & crew must save him. One person will lose, some will break even, and two of you will hit the jackpot. :)
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, Leonard “Bones” McCoy/Reader, Leonard “Bones” McCoy/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	1. Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There will be smut eventually, but this is a slower burn for me than usual. Hopefully the romantic fluff along the way makes up for the wait and the bad puns. :)
> 
> Also, if Karl is more your thing, please feel free to swap green metaphors for all the stuff about blue eyes, lol.

_WaEEEEeeeoooo_

“Aah!” You jumped and dropped the pair of underwear you’d been holding as the loud whistle of the bosun’s pipe on your room’s speaker jolted you out of a daydream. The kind you’d been indulging in way too much lately. It was immediately followed by a giggle and Lt. Uhura’s soft voice floating in over your room’s intercom: “Lt. Y/LN?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re needed in the Deck 19 conference room.” You could hear her grin through the intercom, as though somehow she knew exactly what she’d just interrupted.

“Okay, on my way.”

“Oh...and say hi for me.” _*click*_

Oh, damn it, she probably did know, about your daydreaming and probably more. You really needed to work on developing some kind of poker face. Your embarrassment, though, faded when you realized the substance of what she’d said. Say hi for me? If that meant what you thought it might, folding laundry could definitely wait. Not only was a call to the Deck 19 conference room interesting in itself — this was where the Captain usually held the most important meetings with the senior crew and prominent guests — it also sounded like someone else was being included. Someone you wouldn’t mind meeting with at _all_. You checked the mirror by the door quickly to make sure nothing needed touching up and headed for the turbolift.

Making your way through the corridors, you mentally went down a list of things this summoning might be about. You’d never been called to this room yourself, and you weren’t sure why you would be now, but at least it probably wasn’t disciplinary. That kind of thing usually happened much more discreetly. Kirk wasn’t the easiest captain to serve under, but he was at least considerate when it came to letting his officers save face.

You’d initially been beyond excited to serve on his ship. Federation historians, especially junior-grade ones like you, usually served landside, at Starfleet headquarters or affiliated universities. A smaller number got assignments on other planets, and a starship commission was even less common than that. Especially on a huge, Constitution-class ship like the Enterprise, with one of the most decorated COs in the service. When the opening had come up, your mentor had strongly encouraged you to apply, but being a lowly lieutenant who’d only just earned her M.A., you in no way expected to actually get it.

Apparently his glowing letter of recommendation had helped, though. You didn’t have many published papers or accomplishments yet, but he’d focused on your passion for your field and your strong interest in exploration. After all, you’d accompanied him and his team on a few expeditions now, most recently to a remediated World War 3 site far out in a forgotten section of the southwestern U.S., and had been been positive and upbeat the entire time despite the harsh conditions.

It was true — you loved working out of the office and on location like that. Maybe it was the chance to get away from papers and proper citation format and actually see history in person. Or, maybe it was because you knew as soon as you tied the knot, you’d be expected to stick around near home much more. You’d never traveled even as far as Europe, and your fiancé, Mike, definitely had zero desire to live in another star system.

So, when the tele-call had come in offering you the position of A&A officer on the Enterprise, you’d accepted on the spot. Your team had been beyond excited for you, and even though Mike had thought it was a little ridiculous of you to apply in the first place, and had said as much — you didn’t need the extra pay or even the job, period, with the money he was pulling in, and you were hardly likely to get it anyway — you were sure he’d be happy for you. Six months in space wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, the wedding date was still more than a year out, and on a state-of-the-art ship like this, video calls and keeping in touch wouldn’t be a problem. You’d gone home sure that even though it was a surprise, he’d understand how important it was to you and share your excitement.

In hindsight, you probably should have guessed that wouldn’t be the case at all. Mike had been furious and deeply hurt that you hadn’t even talked to him about it before cementing the deal. Things got worse when he recruited your mom and dad to try and “reason” with you. This had led to some nasty fights with both him and them. By the day you’d departed, things had quieted down some, but there were obviously still hard feelings about you going. You’d spent your first night on board consoling yourself that things were sure to get better once you got out to space and got used to the new routine. You were sure he’d feel at least a little better when he saw how serious you were about regular calls.

And as it turned out, you had even more time than you’d expected for those calls. After getting _the_ most lukewarm welcome you could imagine from your new captain, James T. Kirk, the ship set out for the colonies on Beta VI. A couple of days after that, as soon as you were officially in deep space, you found out what the real deal was — your commission hadn’t been Kirk’s decision at ALL, and he’d even argued strongly against his needing a historian on board. The ship’s official mission, he’d insisted, was exploration of new worlds, which called for the “hard” sciences — physicists, geotechnical specialists, and engineers. The only thing he’d ever gotten from a historian, he’d said, had been a headache and a trip to McCoy’s compression chamber, whatever that meant.

So, that was that. While your colleagues back on Earth were getting published in journals and going on exciting expeditions, your career would be floating in stasis for the next several months, your skills and reputation depreciating the entire time. Your fiancé was also not being particularly responsive, and your mom implied he’d been seen around town with one of your “friends.” You felt like with just a few excited scrawls of your signature on a couple of forms, you’d completely fucked over both your career trajectory and your personal life.

Eventually, you couldn’t stand the lack of demand for your skills and the time it afforded you to brood about all of this. Fuck protocol. The worst you’d likely get would be a reprimand, and better you get it for sticking your nose where it didn’t belong than starting a drinking habit, which seemed to be the only other option. You’d always been uncomfortable being pushy, but one department at a time, you started reaching out and making it known that you had skills aside from writing papers and you were willing to help.

As it turned out, this was the best move you could’ve made, in more ways than one. Crew members who had been standoffish (mostly, as you found out, due to the way the last historian had left the ship, after leading a mutiny that nearly got everyone on board killed or enslaved by an unfrozen 20th century maniac Kirk had found) became much friendlier when they realized you were serious about doing your job (and potentially some of theirs). You finally started making friends around the ship, and after a couple more weeks, got the attention of the captain. Kirk initially questioned, with some annoyance, why his new historian was assisting with wiring repairs in Engineering, but when Scott reminded him that his last A&A officer had spent most of her time painting watercolor fan art of dictators alone in her quarters, he quickly recognized the difference and personally apologized to you for his initial reception, promising that he’d do his best to find you something within your field you could sink your teeth into.

It hadn’t been much so far — a few small projects and analyses here and there — but even that went a long way toward cushioning the blow when the inevitable happened and Mike finally broke off your engagement.

Now, though, that big opportunity was about to come much sooner than either Kirk or you could’ve expected. Seven weeks had passed since the Enterprise crew had discovered the Guardian of Forever, a mysterious sentient time portal deep in an unexplored section of the Alpha Quadrant. While Kirk was still processing his grief over Edith Keeler’s death and Chief Surgeon McCoy was recovering from the after-effects of a massive cordrazine overdose, the Federation had been quick to swoop in, quarantining the planet and stationing security officers all around the Guardian while it determined the best uses for the entity. Kirk wasn’t thrilled — he knew exactly how much risk was involved with the Guardian’s use — but ultimately, it wasn’t his call, so he’d done his best to move on and try not to think about it (or about Edith and the possibility of other cases like hers being created). He wasn’t going to be able to avoid that topic much longer, though.

~~~~~

As you walked down the hallway toward the turbolift, Uhura’s voice floated in over the speaker again, confirming your earlier suspicions: “Dr. McCoy, please come to the Deck 19 conference room.” A rush of adrenaline went through you at the knowledge he’d be there as well. Not that you disliked the CMO. No, far from it. Despite a less than ideal first impression, you’d found him to be one of the kinder, more approachable senior officers on the ship, and the “volunteer” work you’d done in his department had been one of the more pleasant parts of your stay so far.

Well, okay, that was sort of a half-truth. Over the last couple of months, McCoy had become probably one of your best friends on board. And, in addition to being kind and approachable, he was also compassionate, considerate, and cute as all hell, and you were fighting a daily battle to keep your feelings toward him merely friendly.

Even before you and Mike had broken up, one of the first officers to benefit from your campaign of self-distraction had been the ship’s Head Nurse, Christine Chapel. The two of you had become friends easily. She had an incredibly reassuring, calming energy, and she in turn welcomed your regular installments of entertaining relationship drama (you guessed it helped distract her from her own unrequited crush on Cdr. Spock). With McCoy then still under official orders to take it easy following his cordrazine OD, and thanks to the blue of your uniform, no one seemed to notice or care that you came around to help (and stayed around to chat) as often as you did.

But then, one day, Kirk lifted those orders, it took approximately half a second for the CMO to shoot over to Sickbay, and all of that changed immediately.

You’d initially found him intimidating. Open confrontation really wasn’t your thing — you usually tried to defuse situations before they got too heated — but this guy seemed to thrive on it the way most people thrived on sunshine and exercise. It seemed like anytime you saw him in the hall or passed by Sickbay, he was giving someone a ration of shit, or else just grousing over something not being done correctly or otherwise outside of the way things had been done prior to his being out of commission.

Christine shrugged and explained that this was just McCoy, that he’d calm down after a week or so, and that his bark was much worse than his bite, but you still felt bad for her having to deal with such an asshole of a CO. Not wanting to incur his wrath on yourself, though, you made a point of avoiding Sickbay and just visiting her in the lab.

But then one night, he popped up down there, too, and promptly stood between the two of you, complaining about her “jawing when there was work to be done” and gesturing so enthusiastically he knocked over the cup of coffee you’d set on the lab table. Knowing how much he apparently cared about “protocol,” you’d winced and steeled yourself for a very thorough dressing down.

To your surprise, what you’d gotten instead was a sight few others on the Enterprise were privileged to witness. His face had immediately softened from its usual scowl into a surprised smile, and the eyes that usually looked about the color and expression of the North Atlantic during a winter storm had relaxed into beautiful, bright color more like the South Pacific.

“Sorry, sir. That was mine. Can I get you some new printouts or something?” you’d stammered apologetically, nodding at the sopping paperwork on the table and trying not to think about the transformation of the previously angry (and now surprisingly kind of handsome) guy in front of you.

“Oh. Uh. No, that’s not necessary. That was your coffee?”

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have left it there, that was careless, I--”

“No, no. My mistake, I assumed it was for me. I, ah, don’t meet many people who take theirs black, most of my staff uses a lot of sweetener.” He chuckled.

“Oh. Do you not like sweet stuff?”

“No, I ah...like sweet things very much,” he’d stammered, blushing as he heard his words out loud. “I usually just don’t take the time with this. Too much going on.” He chuckled and bounced slightly as he continued to look at you with those piercing eyes.

As the doctor gazed down at you, his expression now something between a knowing smirk and a fascinated gaze, you’d realized with a sinking feeling that yeah, you were in trouble, just not quite in the way you’d expected.

After that day, you started seeing the CMO around regularly whenever you came by the lab to see Christine. You were careful to not come by during busy times, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, after a couple of weeks, you’d realized you were actually spending more time talking to him than to your friend. Not that you really minded this. This previously grumpy man was actually turning out to be pleasant company, even sort of charming. Then one afternoon, you’d questioned him about his failure to take his own advice of eating regularly, and you’d somehow wound up having dinner with him.

From there, you’d started getting together occasionally outside of working hours. Not on dates or anything like that — you were still engaged then — but just socially (though he had asked permission to call you by your first name, which as far as you could tell was Southern gentleman for “we’re friends now”). It didn’t hurt that even though your areas of expertise were miles apart, you were each interested in the other’s field. The first few times he’d asked you questions about a particular historical event or subject, you’d tried to keep your answers as brief and to the point as possible, not wanting to bore him — you were accustomed to Mike listening politely but visibly zoning out after a minute or so of your rambling. Either McCoy was a much better actor than Mike, though, or he actually was interested in what you had to say.

This, of course, also meant trouble. At home, you had your colleagues to talk to, but the Enterprise was different, and the siren song of someone actually sharing a little bit of your passion was terribly hard to resist. When McCoy asked if you might be interested in watching an antique film he’d happened across, you knew you were probably crossing some kind of line, but you’d said yes. Nothing inappropriate had happened, but then he’d found another film, and it had turned into a semi-regular thing.

This movie night was what had been occupying your thoughts when Uhura had paged you. Specifically, the last one a few days ago. McCoy had found a copy of an old TV show called _Bonanza_ and wanted to get your take on whether it accurately portrayed frontier medicine. He couldn’t have known, but that had been about an hour after you and Mike had broken up, and almost immediately after you’d had to deal with your family contacting you from thousands of light-years away to tell you what a phenomenal disappointment you were. He’d brought drinks, you’d had seconds and then thirds, and then somewhere around Hoss Cartwright being ethered up for surgery, you’d drifted off. When you’d come to, it was almost 0200, you and McCoy were both still on the couch, and you were more or less curled up against him, with his chin resting on your head and his arms around you. He hadn’t made a big deal about it — just asked if you were okay, and then smiled and walked you back to your quarters.

Ever since that night, though, you’d been an additional layer of confused about your friendship and the whole situation. It didn’t make any sense — you’d just lost what should have been the love of your life, not to mention this guy was _way_ above you in rank and, despite his constant teasing and double-entendres, probably not interested in you that way at all. You hadn’t told him anything, but surely he’d picked up on something or else just didn’t want to push the needy drunk girl away. McCoy was exactly that overly responsible kind of person who would probably do that for anyone on board, even Spock.

His arms had felt so incredibly good around you, though, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how comfortable he’d felt — or how badly you wanted to feel it again. The couple of times you’d seen him in the days since, you’d tried to act normal, but it was hard to not get distracted by the sight of those arms and the heat you could always feel radiating from him even a couple feet away. Not that he usually stood even that far, which just made you wonder all the more about that heat and, God help you, whether he might get warmer still under the right circumstances.

Now, you were going to have to sit down at a conference table across from — or even next to — him and pretend not to notice that heat if he got too close. And also pretend not to notice the way that one eyebrow would quirk sometimes, or the accent he tried so hard to rein in but that would flare up noticeably around vowels and “ing” suffices, especially when he got worked up about something (and especially since you now knew he wasn’t motivated by anger but by deep concern for the crew). Both the Captain and Spock were perceptive men, and even though you knew they took you seriously by now, you’d worked hard to get there, and you didn’t want to squander their confidence by having them think you were being inappropriate around one of the senior crew. It was bad enough that some of the other bridge crew like Uhura apparently suspected it.

You were still deep in thought about all of this when you finally got to Deck 19 and realized you needed to switch mental gears ASAP. Seated inside were the Captain and Spock, but not McCoy yet. Instead, there was another man, whose sleeve braid showed he was fairly high up the Starfleet food chain and whose decorations on his left breast identified him as an intel officer.

“Ah, Y/LN, please have a seat,” Kirk said, motioning to a chair across from him. “We’re just waiting on Dr. McCoy. Cmdre. Martel, this is Lt. Y/LN, our ship historian. Lieutenant, before we start this meeting, two things. You’ve been asked here for a reason, and everything you’re about to hear is highly confidential and MUST stay that way. Do you understand?”

You nodded and leaned forward in your seat. Your instincts had been right. This was going to be interesting for sure.


	2. Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise’s guest makes a surprising request of the Reader.

After a moment, the door to the conference room slid open and in came Dr. McCoy in his shiny blue scrubs. He paused for a second when he saw you, surprised, but noticeably pleased.

“Doctor, thank you for your promptness,” Kirk said, gesturing to the empty chair next to you. “I believe you’re already acquainted with Cmdre. Martel?”

“Oh, ah, yes. The inoculations on Cestus V. It’s been a while. Good to see you again, sir.” McCoy exchanged a nod with the commodore and took his seat, raising the nearby temperature noticeably as he did.

Cmdre. Martel looked around. “Thank you all for joining me. You’re probably wondering what this is about. It concerns the planet the Enterprise recently encountered — the so-called Guardian’s planet.”

The smile evaporated from the other men’s faces at that, and McCoy sighed. “Ah, how could I forget.”

Martel continued. “I want to preface this by saying what you’re all about to hear is classified. The details must go no further than this room. Lt. Y/LN, you’ve been included for reasons I’ll specify in a moment.”

“Okay,” you nodded. Whatever this was was starting to sound more than a bit ominous, but you were still excited to hear more. You’d heard a couple of rumors about the Guardian of Time since you’d come on board, but only the vaguest of references — that it was some kind of time portal. As a historian, you were fiercely eager to hear more, but up until now, your security clearance hadn’t been nearly high enough.

“Captain,” Martel continued, “You’re aware that since your discovery, the Federation has planned to use the Guardian for research purposes, to learn more about galactic history, particularly eras we lack information about. One of those areas is Earth’s Atomic Age, specifically the period between 1955 and the Eugenics Wars. Much of our knowledge of that period has been lost in the Third World War and the dark age that followed it.”

Kirk and you both nodded.

“I’m sure you can understand the excitement, captain. You as well, Lt. Y/LN. Being able to actually visit history instead of just studying it — it’s an archaeologist’s dream.”

Kirk nodded. “Yes, I imagine it would be.” He motioned for the commodore to continue.

“Four days ago, the first research officer went back. Just a simple, one-person mission to gather data on the nuclear test site in southwestern Nevada circa 1958. The officer was Dr. Jonathan Moore.”

You looked at him, startled. You hadn’t thought of that name since the day you’d called the man to thank him for his letter of recommendation and tell him about your official assignment on the Enterprise. “Sir, this isn’t Jonathan Moore at Starfleet Academy? Department Head of 20th Century Studies?”

“Yes, it is.” Martel smiled.

“You know him, lieutenant?” Kirk asked.

“Very well, sir. My area of expertise is 20th century history,” you reminded him. “I’ve worked in the same circles as him since undergrad, and he’s probably the best mentor and instructor I’ve ever had. But he’s also, um...” Your voice trailed off as you tried and failed to think of a diplomatic way to say that although Moore was a brilliant scientist, he was also prone to some odd gaps in judgment that, though infrequent, had a way of causing massive consequences when they did happen. A sense of horror washed over you as you thought about what consequences might be involved in this case.

“He’s not coming out is what he is,” Martel said bluntly. “And we don’t know precisely why. We sent two officers in after him, but they couldn’t find out anything, either. That was 48 hours ago.”

“Could there be some delay in the time continuum?” Kirk asked. “Remember, we showed up in New York several days before McCoy.”

“That seems unlikely, Captain,” Spock spoke up. “If you recall, Lt. Uhura said the time between our entering the Guardian and returning was only a few moments. The delay was due more to the speed of the entity’s replay than any irregularities in time.”

“Ah, yes.” Kirk thumbed his lip and leaned back, concentrating. “This...team that went in, were they not able to track his comm? Or did he not bring one?”

“He did. And no. They weren’t able to.”

“So, it’s either disabled or he’s out of range,” Kirk mused.

“That’s what was reported, but the first rescue team consisted of historians. A science officer may be able to find a work-around. Jim, this is where you and your crew come in. Headquarters agrees the officers in this room are our best chance at finding Moore. I know you have first-hand experience with this thing. If he’s at all reachable, I know you’ll find him, or at least come back with some kind of information. And I know you understand the paramount importance of not making any unnecessary changes while you’re there.”

“Yes,” Kirk said, quietly. “I understand.” Martel couldn’t possibly know just how intimately the captain was aware of the importance of this last part. “Have there been any...changes?” Kirk asked.

“Significant changes in galactic history? No, thank God. But this is why we came to you. We can’t risk sending any others in unless we’re absolutely sure they’ll get the job done.”

“Commodore, if I may ask, where does Lt. Y/LN fit into this?” Spock asked.

Martel nodded. “Right. Lieutenant, in Moore’s personnel file, one name kept popping up: yours. Not just among his professional references, but also as his emergency contact — his _only_ emergency contact. This, in addition to your expertise in this era, is why Starfleet is requesting your inclusion.”

“Me?” You knew it wouldn’t have been his asshole ex-wife, but you were still surprised he’d have no closer contacts among family or colleagues. It was true the two of you had worked closely and even been good friends at one time, but it had been quite a few months since this had been a regular thing. It seemed like he’d have plenty of other professional if not personal contacts he could list.

“Yes. It’s clear he thinks very highly of your knowledge and capabilities. This, coupled with your knowledge of him personally, makes you the ideal choice.” He leaned forward. “Lieutenant, you’re not under official orders, and you’re not obligated to go, but--”

“I’ll go,” you interrupted. If Jon was in trouble, this was the least you could do after how much he’d helped you. Besides, this was the first time you’d been legitimately needed since you boarded, and like hell you were going to turn it down. “Is my clearance high enough, though?”

“It will be after this meeting.” Martel smiled. “In this case, I’ll need you to compile whatever information and materials your team will need to fit in seamlessly as you search for Moore. Kirk, of course, will lead the mission, but your crewmates will rely heavily on your expertise for guidance.”

He turned to Kirk. “Captain, please have your crew route us toward the Guardian’s planet immediately. And Dr. McCoy, please see that everyone is fully inoculated beforehand. I understand tuberculosis and influenza are still rampant in this time period, and there’s a radiation concern because of the nuclear testing.”

McCoy nodded. “Sir.” His eyes flickered over to yours very briefly, and you met them shyly.

“Good. Captain, as I said before, this and anything involving the Guardian is highly confidential. The details of this mission shall not be shared with _anyone_ not in this room, except that you’ll be making a brief stop at the planet. Lt. Cdr. Scott will assume command of the Enterprise in your absence, which as you’ve noted should be brief in this time. All that should be required from his and the others’ points of view should be about 15 minutes in orbit. Are there any questions?”

The rest of you shook your heads.

“Excellent. Please get a good night’s sleep. We’ll beam down to the planet’s surface at 0700 tomorrow. And thank you.”


	3. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy and the Reader each prepare for the next day’s mission, and we get to hear a little from each of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a few days before I can update this again (next few days will be busy), but more is in the works. I really wanted to get soft!Len posted before then. :)

As soon as Martel had left, Kirk wasted no time getting down to business. “Alright, we have a lot to get done tonight. Y/LN, you start the necessary preparations. Find out everything we need to know about 1950s Nevada and put together a brief. Spock, have Sulu and Chekhov chart a course toward the Guardian’s system. McCoy, you heard Martel. I want all of us fully vaccinated and protected against that radiation before we go to sleep tonight.”

McCoy nodded and headed back to Sickbay. Normally, he would have been irritated as all hell by the news. Not only did he have his hands way more than full with the vaccinations and physicals that needed to happen before the upcoming shore leave, but after his last encounter with the Guardian, the absolute _last_ place he wanted to go was through that cursed donut again. The fact that Y/N was being included, though, and that tiny smile they’d exchanged during the meeting put a somewhat different spin on things.

McCoy wouldn’t have admitted it outright, but that smile was about all it took lately to completely change his day for the better. Granted, as the CMO, the morale of all the Enterprise’s crew members was important to him, but there was one particular person on board whose happiness mattered just a tiny bit more, to the point he’d caught himself spending a good portion of his off-hours figuring out ways to see it more often.

One day a couple of months back, already in a foul mood from having to set some lazy ensign straight about the importance of keeping the floor dry, McCoy had come to his lab to find Christine not working, but laughing and shooting the breeze with some nonmedical junior officer, and he’d gone from annoyed to straight-up pissed off. He’d only been on a compulsory rest schedule for a couple of weeks. He could’ve anticipated most of his staff would play while the cat was away, but his head nurse was another story, and he’d wasted no time stepping between her and this presumptuous friend of hers to set a few things straight.

In the middle of trying to communicate with his hands exactly how much work needed to be done, he’d knocked over a cup of coffee sitting on the lab counter. He was about to ask why in hell Christine was even bringing his drink in the first place — she was a nurse, not a yeoman — when a soft voice behind him got his attention. He’d looked around and for the first time actually noticed the blue-clothed lieutenant behind him, with her bright Y/E/C eyes and apologetic expression.

“Sorry, sir. That was mine,” she had explained hesitantly. “Can I get you some new printouts or something?”

At least that’s what he thought she’d said. He’d been too busy wondering who she was and how he’d never noticed her. Even on a rest schedule, he’d still been able to get out a little, so how was it that Kirk had been able to smuggle in this beautiful lieutenant right under his nose? He’d tried to think of something suave or at least intelligent to say, but all that had come out was some awkwardness about the ownership of the cup.

“Oh. Uh. No, that’s not necessary. That was your coffee?”

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have left it there, that was careless, I--”

“No, no. My mistake, I assumed it was for me. I, ah, don’t meet many people who take theirs black, most of my staff adds a lot of sweetener.” He chuckled.

“Oh. Do you just not like sweet stuff?”

“No, I ah...like sweet things very much,” he’d stammered, cringing at the way that came out. “I usually just don’t take the time with this. Too much going on.”

Christine, probably noticing the abrupt change in his demeanor and seeing where this was going, had rolled her eyes, heaved a silent sigh, and exited quietly, leaving him and this friend of hers to chat for a few more minutes, until the next interruption. He’d realized after she’d left that he should have offered to get her another cup — or better yet, asked for her name, even — and cursed himself and his lapsed social skills. A gentleman should be able to do more than just stand there and drool. 

So, McCoy had been both relieved and delighted when he came in for his shift the next day to find a small container of sweetener on his desk and a note saying, “This shouldn’t take too long.” Christine had gleefully inquired with a raised eyebrow, and he’d blown it off as this Y/LN obviously needing better things to do. His nurse had worked with him for a few years now, though, and he knew she could tell a CMO trying and failing to hide his feelings when she saw one.

After that, he seemed to run into his new acquaintance regularly around the lab. Granted, it probably helped some that he made a point of going down there about five times as often as usual. He had his reasons, though. Sometimes, he’d heard some interesting fact about the 20th century and genuinely thought who better to mention it to but the ship’s historian? Other times, he needed a volunteer to test a “therapeutic” drink recipe, and, well, why not Y/LN? And sure, maybe he’d gone to a bit of trouble to find recordings of antique 20th century western movies, knowing she loved films from that era, but that was just part of being hospitable, wasn’t it? That it had turned into a semi-regular movie night was just a happy coincidence.

Besides, there were also plenty of times he didn’t have to look because Y/LN would seek him out first, mainly to bring him some book or trinket she thought he might be interested in, or just to make sure he was taking time for himself and not being completely consumed by the work he enjoyed so much. Those moments definitely didn’t make his entire week.

Something about the way she always greeted him, though — with a subtle additional enthusiasm he didn’t see in her interactions with the others — did wonders for him. McCoy got on well enough with the rest of the crew, but it was something else entirely to be sought out personally, and for something that didn’t even involve medicine, no less. To actually be on the _inside_ of inside jokes instead of laughing at a retelling was a privilege he reckoned he hadn’t enjoyed for years, let alone with someone he also found so attractive. Before too long, he’d been forced to admit to himself that some additional feelings were developing, feelings that went beyond simple friendship.

Because as much as he would’ve preferred to ignore it, there was a very noticeable ring on Y/N’s third finger, one he knew had been given with the expectation of something more serious when her time on the Enterprise was over. It was true she didn’t talk about her fiancé that much, which did seem a little odd, but he chalked that up to professionalism. A few times recently, he’d noticed the ring wasn’t on her finger at all, but he hadn’t pried, figuring if it was something she’d wanted to talk about, she’d have mentioned it. Though he did wonder intensely, especially about that night a few days earlier, when (ring very much missing) she’d fallen asleep against him on the couch during one of those movie nights.

She’d seemed to have a lot on her mind — she didn’t normally drink nearly that much — but didn’t appear to want to talk about it, just laughing and having a good time as usual before getting sleepy and nodding off against him, and then humming and smiling when he’d taken a chance and pulled her closer. Surely it had just been a bad day, and he was only too happy to offer some comfort, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there might be something more to it than that. As selfish as it might’ve been, it had felt so incredibly good to have her tucked up against him like that, close enough for him to feel her heartbeat, not to mention responding so appreciatively to his arms around her. It had been far too long since he’d enjoyed that kind of simple physical affection, and especially from someone whose company he enjoyed so much. He didn’t want to disrespect her relationship, but he knew he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t sorely hoping the next movie night might end up the same way.

McCoy paused and sighed down at the beaker full of vaccine ingredients. This wasn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t sure if Jim or Spock knew anything, but Uhura definitely did, thanks to her friendship with Christine. (Not that he could really blame her — he’d more than earned it with all his teasing of her over Spock.) Even if Jim _did_ know, though, it wouldn’t really make a difference — the captain expected all of his crew to have the same amount of unshakable self-control as he did, romantic interest or not. This was one of several reasons he hadn’t been fond of the last historian, McIvers. Even before throwing herself at Khan, she’d been easily distracted from her duties by just about any well-built male officer on the ship, and McCoy absolutely did _not_ want Kirk’s opinion of Y/N tainted for the same reason.

He’d just need to keep things professional. They were going as a group, so that shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? As soon as the mission was completed (assuming, of course, they all got back alive), he and Y/N could pick things back up where they’d left off. Wherever that was. In the meantime, he would go over to her quarters and just administer these vaccines like the professional senior officer he was. That should be a perfect opportunity to set the tone for the next few days.

McCoy loaded up eight hypos with the contents of his beakers, then emptied the first two into himself. After making a very brief pause by his looking-glass (just to ensure his uniform looked tidy) and grabbing a bright orange movie disk (okay, who was he kidding with that), he headed over to pay Y/N a visit.

  
~~~~~

While the CMO was busy getting his vaccines prepared and his nerves worked up, you were busy with your own preparations for the mission. After loading all the relevant information onto your padd and compiling the highlights into the brief Kirk had requested, you headed over to the replicator room to ensure your team would have everything it needed to fit in seamlessly in 1958 Earth — clothes, luggage, grooming products, and whatever else you could think of. Kirk could tease you for overthinking it if he wanted, but you now knew how he and Spock had gotten along in New York, and there wouldn’t be nearly as many fire escapes to steal clothing from here. You’d also need to replicate enough cash to supplement any unpredictable needs, and you’d need to do so flawlessly. The last thing the team needed was getting arrested by the military police for counterfeiting or, even worse, hauled into some mob-owned casino’s back room for gambling with fake bills.

As you leaned over the table to distribute more supplies into the suitcases, something dug into your hip, and you fished it out of your pocket. It was your engagement ring, from where you’d tucked it away last time you wore this uniform — the night you’d broken up with Mike. On an impulse, you added it to your suitcase. Not that you really wanted anything to do with it at this point, but you were going to a much more socially conservative destination, and who knew, maybe it would come in handy.

“Oh, there you are, my dear,” a baritone voice drawled. You turned around to see your attractive friend sauntering into the replicator room. “I went by your quarters to give you your hypos, but you weren’t there,” he said.

“Mission accomplished,” you smirked.

“Now, now, I’m not going to be responsible for you bringing measles into the 23rd century. Which arm do you prefer?”

McCoy had a smile on his face, but judging by the way his accent was starting to peek out around “arum,” you knew you’d already succeeded in getting a tiny rise out of him. Smirking again, you pointed to your left bicep. He drained the contents of the thing into your body with a hiss, and then before you could make any smart comments, pressed a second one to your right arm.

“Oh damn, doc!” you exclaimed, rubbing the sore flesh. Usually the bad ones took a second or two to hurt, but this one instantly felt like an elephant had kicked you in the arm. “Some warning would’ve been nice?”

“That was the anti-radiation hypo,” he said apologetically. “Here.” He gently massaged the area. “I can give you a painkiller if you’d like.”

“Nah, I’ll live. Any side effects I should look out for?”

“Just some soreness. Just be glad you’re not Spock. Because of that Vulcan physique of his, he gets his back here.” He patted his rear end.

“Hmm. I can think of some advantages to that.”

“Now, now, my dear,” he chided, his cheek color betraying him a little. “By the way, I brought you something else. Maybe this will make the medicine go down a little more easily.” Smiling, he proferred a large orange disc, the kind the ship’s computers used to play movies.

You gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”

He nodded. “I have no idea how Chekov finds these things, and I don’t think I really want to know, but yes, it’s a copy of _Warlock_.”

You grabbed for it excitedly, but he held you back. “Mm-mm. This’ll have to wait until we get back I’m afraid. Business before pleasure. And speaking of business, you still owe me, er Sickbay, a physical before shore leave. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

You swallowed. You hadn’t forgotten either. Chapel had taken care of it when you’d come on board, but one of the metrics had been slightly high and McCoy had been after you for a checkup just to make sure everything was copacetic. At this point, though, you weren’t at all sure you’d be able to get through it without embarrassing yourself severely. All you said, though, was, “Okay, doc.”

Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed your embarrassed pause, but had moved on to peering into the suitcases you were loading. “What’s all this?”

“Just prepping for the mission.”

“Hmm, I’ll say. You don’t take your assignments lightly, do you?”

You smiled. “It’s hard to say what we’ll encounter once we get down there. I heard Spock mention having to rig up a computer system with ‘stone knives and bearskins,’ and while I’m pretty sure he was exaggerating, I’m not taking any chances. I mean, everything here is free and easy. Once we get down there, we’re on our own.”

“Well, I doubt even Spock could disagree with that logic, he said, smiling and leaning against the table with his arms crossed. “Though he’d probably try. Why not have Rand do all this, though?”

“Oh, nothing personal to Jan,” you said. “I just don’t want to risk anything not being replicated correctly. I’ll sleep better this way, knowing everything is as accurate as I can make it.” (You also didn’t have a whole lot else to do, but you didn’t really want to admit that part.)

“Ah. Well, if it’s sleep you need help with...” His blue eyes twinkled and he smirked. You rolled your eyes and tried not to react too obviously. You loved when he teased like this, but at the same time, you knew realistically that was all it was (though more and more lately you really wanted to just respond in kind).

“Doc?”

“What? I just meant I could give you something to help.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you could.” That got you a blush. For as much as the CMO seemed to like to flirt, he got incredibly easily flustered when someone actually responded in kind.

“Oh, why, I didn’t mean that. I just meant a sleeping pill. Or I could just show you _Raintree County_ again.”

“Hmm, sadly, I don’t have 48 hours for either of those options.” 

He laughed. The laugh was casual, but he was still blushing fiercely. Taking pity on him, you changed the subject.

“By the way, doc, since you’re here — do you have any requests as far as period-specific clothes?”

“Hm. What are my choices?”

“Well, the Captain and Spock are getting--”

“Oh. Never mind. Just give me something completely unlike whatever you give Spock.” He grinned. “Does this mean I’ll be seeing you out of your uniform as well?”

That last part had honestly not been intended as dirty as it sounded, and he flushed bright red as your eyebrows shot up and he realized the connotation. “Oh. I...ah, dammit, I didn’t mean...”

You couldn’t help but grin, even as your own cheeks blazed. As cute as he was when he teased you, somehow he was even more so when he went too far and the gentleman instincts took over. “Hmm, I, ah.... I guess I’d better get over to Spock’s quarters. Get these hypos over with. I’ll just leave you to it.” He paused for a moment before adding, “You sure your arm’s alright now?”

“Yeah, it’s fine now. But I’ll let you know if that changes.” You smiled at your friend’s concern. “See you in the morning, doc.”

He waited until the door had slid shut firmly behind him before letting out a soft groan and pinching the bridge of his nose. God help him and professionalism be damned. He’d be lucky if the two of you were still on speaking terms when you returned. 


	4. Reconnaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise team begins its rescue mission, and the Reader makes some surprising discoveries.

In your excitement that night, you forgot to set your alarm, but it didn’t matter. The next morning, the natural turbulence surrounding the Guardian’s planet woke you up on time anyway, albeit by nearly flinging you right out of bed.

Taking that as a sign it was time to get up, you started getting ready, washing up and putting on the outfit you’d replicated the night before — a knee-length shirt-dress and a wide-brimmed hat. You paused for a moment before also adding the engagement solitaire to the ensemble. It felt more than a bit weird wearing it now, but you reminded yourself it was for the good of the mission. With Samsonite in hand, you made your way through the still nearly empty hallways toward the transporter room.

The rest of your party was already there, and — you noticed with satisfaction — also in their period clothing and with their luggage.

“Lieutenant, I admire your preparedness,” Kirk said, “But is this all necessary?” He gestured around and pointed at the baggage.

“Well... you don’t have to bring it, sir, but you might be glad to have it once we’re down there. That suitcase also helps hide the computer equipment Cdr. Spock is bringing.”

“Computer equipment, Spock?”

“Indeed, Captain. I would rather not have to ask you to find me a block of platinum after the difficulty we encountered the last time. If you recall--”

“I’d rather not,” Kirk said. “As a matter of fact, I’d prefer to get this over with as quickly as possible.” He gave a short, annoyed sigh. You figured Kirk was unhappy about having to go back down to this planet, probably considering the last time he’d seen the Guardian had been just minutes after being forced to assist in the gruesome, if necessary, death of someone he loved dearly. A death he would never have needed to be involved in had he and his crew just steered clear of this planet to begin with. Granted, this was a rescue mission, but you realized he was probably still deeply concerned about the chances of causing another situation like that this time around.

Fortunately, Cmdre. Martel entered the room then, with the energy of someone who was either oblivious to or just unconcerned about Kirk’s anxieties. He nodded. “Excellent, you’re all here.” He looked around at your costumes and luggage and raised an eyebrow. “And prepared to be there a while, I see?”

Kirk glanced over at you, the note of annoyance in his expression unchanged. “Yes, well, my historian here seems to feel that--”

“Oh, these were _your_ doing, lieutenant?” The commodore looked at the four of you more closely and examined the suitcase in your hand. “This is some impressive attention to detail. My, ah, brother-in-law attends a lot of those Information Age Faires. I wouldn’t know, of course, but I imagine achieving this level of authenticity isn’t easy.”

“Is everyone ready?” Kirk asked. Martel raised an eyebrow but nodded. Kirk motioned to the chief, and the five of you walked up to the transporter stage and prepared to beam down.

You still weren’t used to this part yet — something about the action of the transporter still bothered your stomach — but the subtle smile and nod toward the commodore that McCoy shot you was at least distracting, if not completely preventive. The transporter chief pressed a few buttons, slid a switch, and with a loud ping, sent the five of you down to the planet’s desolate surface.

~~~~~

  
The Guardian’s planet was technically M-class and had once apparently hosted an advanced civilization, but you’d be hard-pressed to recognize any of it now. The area around you was littered with its remnants — orphaned Doric columns, pieces of building foundations, and all kinds of unintelligible rubble. The portal itself — a glowing oblong that reminded you of a Rigelian glitter pastry — stood before you, and through its hollow center, way off in the distance, you could see the one still standing structure, the skeleton of what must have been a temple of some kind. This must have once been a large, influential city, but now, aside from a few armed Federation guards, the place was devoid of any life and disturbingly quiet. It reminded you way more than you wanted to admit of the Las Vegas were familiar with, that you’d seen the previous spring.

The last expedition you’d accompanied Jon on had been to what remained of the legendary “Sin City” following Earth’s Third World War and nearly two centuries of being otherwise forgotten. Most of what you’d seen then looked like the Guardian’s city did now, save for a few recognizable landmarks — the foundations of an ancient downtown district, a large, partially tiled basin where a display of fountains had once been, and the remnants of the Hoover Dam, among others.

While Martel went over the technical details of the mission with the four of you, your mind wandered all over the subject, and you started considering, a bit too late now, exactly what you’d signed up for here. Even if you managed to get through this trip in one piece and without effecting any significant changes in history, you were still going to be traveling more than 300 years into the past, and with all the knowledge of what was in store for the people you’d be meeting. How were you actually going to handle that when push came to shove? You hoped the need to rescue your friend would be enough to distract you from the fact that you’d be witnessing first-hand the first baby steps toward what would ultimately destroy millions of people and a good chunk of the western U.S.

And then what if that best-case scenario _didn’t_ happen? What if you did end up stuck there, and what if that also meant somehow preventing the existence of almost everyone you cared about?

You bit the inside of your cheek and made a mental note that if you did manage to get back to your own century safely, you’d get McCoy’s recommendation on a therapist to figure out how to stop agonizing over things like what brand of soap to get at the PX and save your forethought for decisions that actually mattered. Maybe that was why you and Jon had clicked so well — you were probably the only person in the history department who could match him in impulsive, questionable decisions.

“Lieutenant,” Kirk snapped. “If you still intend to go with us, please grace us with your attention.”

You startled. “Sorry, sir.”

“Actually, Captain,” Martel clarified, “This next part really just concerns you and your first officer. Your historian and surgeon can take a break for a few, have a look around.” 

Kirk looked annoyed at once again being contradicted by the commodore, but he nodded to you and McCoy. The two of you went and sat on a nearby toppled column. 

“You alright there? Not having second thoughts, are you?”

“Oh, no,” you lied. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Mm, seemed like you might be a little nervous.”

“Well, maybe just a little. I’m sure you’re not, though, you’ve done this before.”

“Well, sort of. I wasn’t all that lucid the last time I was here,” he chuckled. “In a way, I’m seeing all this for the first time myself.”

“Oh. Well, at least the Captain seems like he’s handling it well,” you offered.

“Oh? I’m not so sure about that. Or even Spock for that matter. They’re far more subtle than I am, but they have their concerns, too. So, you’re in good company, my dear.” He smiled.

God, this guy was good at providing a distraction from stress. You smiled back, his endearment making you forget almost everything but your name for a second.

“Bones, lieutenant,” Kirk called, his annoyed tone sending your memory back at maximum strength. You nodded and walked over to meet him in front of the Guardian, a bit annoyed yourself at what was starting to feel like he had forgotten your actual name.

When the five of you had gotten close enough, the Guardian began to speak in a booming, authoritative voice.

“Do you have another question, visitor? Many new journeys are possible. You have only to ask me a question.”

Kirk spoke. “We’re seeking someone who passed through you two days ago, a Dr. Jonathan Moore.”

The Guardian paused. “He has passed into what was and has not yet returned to you.”

Kirk nodded impatiently. “Yes, we know. We need to go in and find him. Will you play your history for us?

With that, the area in the middle of the glowing frame filled with steam and became opaque. You watched, rapt, as it began showing monochromatic scenes from history, starting with what looked like the construction of Newgrange. After a few moments, you recognized the Great Pyramids of Egypt, and the Minoan eruption. It all seemed to be going ridiculously quickly, though, considering the centuries you knew were between these events.

“Yes, lieutenant,” Kirk nodded. Your head snapped up; you hadn’t realized you’d been wondering aloud. “It does move fast, extremely fast. Which is why when I say jump, we all need to react immediately. Just one second of hesitation on anyone’s part will split up the party and put that person in another decade, possibly another century. Am I absolutely clear on this?”

You and McCoy nodded.

In just the few moments Kirk had been talking, the scenery playing on the screen had progressed to what looked like the Golden Age of the Roman Empire, showing scenes of gladiators in the Coliseum and Roman armies conquering the lands of the ancient European tribes around them. Almost immediately afterward, these faded into scenes of the conquered lands fighting back and the empire falling. The focus then abruptly left Europe, showing what looked like the rise of Islam, the Kingdom of Ghana, and the Mayan civilization at its peak.

“It is compelling, isn’t it, lieutenant?” Kirk smiled.

You nodded. “It’s amazing, sir.” Almost as amazing as the fact that you were about to dive right into this thing. Twenty-four hours ago, you’d still been fixating on your failed relationship and your issues with your family, and now both felt completely inconsequential.

“Wait until you step through it. Just a couple more minutes.”

“Remember what I said, though, Jim,” Martel warned. “Don’t spend too long. If you haven’t found Moore in 2 weeks — 3 weeks on the outside — come back here, no matter what. Beyond that, the risk of changing history is just too high, and your anti-radiation protection will have faded. You’ll be exposed to the same downwind radioactivity as everyone else.”

Kirk looked at McCoy for confirmation of this, and the doctor nodded. “Now he tells us,” Kirk muttered. “Alright, understood.” He looked around at the rest of you. The Guardian was now flashing scenes of the American Revolution, which quickly faded into the French and Haitian Revolutions and then the Boxer Rebellion. “Is everyone ready?” The three of you nodded, and McCoy gave you a little nod and smile.

“Good luck, captain, and to all of you. The Federation has the utmost confidence in you.” You bit your lip as the view changed once again to scenes of the 1929 stock market crash and then the A-bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and you felt McCoy squeeze your arm. This was it. You spotted the launch of Sputnik, and Kirk yelled, “Now!”

~~~~~

You weren’t really sure what you’d expected — a jolt of electricity, maybe, or a gust of air? — but the actual act of stepping into history turned out to be as uneventful a process as walking through a door. Well, maybe in this case, more like stepping out of the cold and into an oven, since the first thing you noticed was the shift from the cool, damp feel of the Guardian’s planet to the raw, arid heat of the Nevada desert.

You put your hand to your forehead and blinked, your eyes adjusting to the brighter daylight here. Your point of arrival didn’t look like the Nevada Test Site specifically, but the far end of a gravel parking lot in what you guessed was probably a nearby town, given the terrain and nearby buildings. Your group had, thankfully, materialized some distance away from any of these buildings, in the middle of a cluster of desert scrub. A couple hundred feet away were what looked like a bus station, a general store, and a gas station, along with a host of Buicks and Packards and a small crowd of people with their backs to you.

Kirk immediately looked around to ensure everyone had made it. He then turned his attention to your surroundings, particularly the crowd, which you realized was watching the mountain range in the distance. After a few moments, a small, puffy cloud rose over those hills, eliciting a loud cheer.

That settled the question of your location, at least. You rubbed your bicep, thankful now for the soreness where McCoy had given you the anti-radiation hypo.

McCoy, of course, broke the silence. “Hmm, marvelous. The most horrible conglomeration of antique architecture I've ever seen. Just where exactly are we?”

“Based on my tricorder readings,” Spock replied, “A town in southwestern Nevada, in your Earth’s United States, about 20 miles southwest of the so-called Nevada Test Site.”

“Hmm. I would have guessed the second circle of Hades, myself.”

“That is interesting, doctor.” Spock began to move around, examining the ephedra scrub and rubbing some of the dry, sandy soil between his fingers before opening his comm. “I recall very recently you trying to impress upon me the inherent romance of the desert.”

McCoy pursed his lips sourly. “I _meant_ something more along the lines of palm trees, oases, and mirages, Spock. Not this bleak wasteland.”

“Gentlemen, please.” Kirk interrupted. “We’ve come a long way to just stand here and argue. Spock, can you find any trace of Moore, any sign of his whereabouts from here?”

“Negative, Captain.”

“Here, let me try.” Kirk immediately took out his comm as well, trying to pick up some signal, some trace of Moore’s whereabouts. Just as the prior team had found, though, there was nothing. “There is no signal here, Captain,” Spock observed after several more tries, blinking at the bright sky.

“Analysis, Mr. Spock?”

“It may be that he is not within range, or there may be something impeding it.”

“Perhaps some security measures on the base?”

“Possibly. Perhaps he is on the base, or he is some distance from us. In any event, we will need to try from another location. If that does not work, I will need to access the computer, and if that is also unsuccessful, we will need to find or improvise another method.”

“Hmm. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Let’s move around a bit, see if we can pick up a signal over there.”

 _Whatever you do, please get on with it,_ you thought. You weren’t sure if it was the heat or the lingering effects of the transporter, or even the time travel itself, but your nausea was suddenly much worse, and you now felt almost dizzy. This feeling had preceded a fainting spell before, and you really didn’t want that to happen right now, on your first real mission, and especially where it might draw attention from bystanders.

“Y/N?” a soft, low voice asked. You looked over to find two concerned blue eyes looking down at you. “You alright there?”

You nodded and he quirked a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m fine. I’m just a little light-headed,” you admitted.

He nodded. “Don’t know what they expect, scattering our atoms all across space and time. Come on. I think Jim and Spock have a handle on this. Let’s find somewhere to sit down.” You nodded gratefully.

“Jim, you mind if Lt. Y/LN and I have a look around?”

“Fine, Bones, just don’t go too far.” Kirk was far too absorbed in either the mission or watching his first officer’s scientific process to notice or care about the CMO’s reasonings.

With his arm lightly around you for support, McCoy led you over toward the general store. “I’m afraid I can’t take out my hypo around these people, but I can at least probably find some cold water.” The crowd cheered again then, at another, bigger cloud rising over the mountains. “Hmm. On second thought, maybe something cold and _bottled_.”

“Thanks, doc. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, my pleasure. Gives me a chance to get away from that Vulcan know-it-all. Not even a minute in and he’s already bringing up arguments we had weeks ago.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like he knows Dante.” McCoy looked at you puzzled. “If any of those circles _were_ romantic, it probably would be the second.” You winked. 

A blush grew on the doctor’s cheeks as he caught your meaning. “Oh,” he chuckled. “You, ah, you sit down here. I’ll be right back.” 

You nodded gratefully and plopped down at a table under the store’s meager awning. Putting your head down, you concentrated on your breathing in an effort to quell the nausea and dizziness. You were so focused on this, you didn’t notice the heavyset older man sitting on the bench a couple of feet over, or that he’d removed the fedora he’d had resting on his face and perked up when you sat down.

After a moment, the weird, prickly feeling of being watched kicked in and you looked up. The man was peering over his black-rimmed glasses at you, and you jumped a little.

“Oh, why I didn’t mean to scare you miss,” he reassured in a high, warbly voice. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re the spitting image of Miss [silent-era actress you most resemble]?”

 _No, that’s definitely a first_ , you thought, considering you and McCoy were the only people you knew who had even seen a 20th century film, period. “No, but thank you,” you said, not believing the compliment but appreciating it anyway. “I loved her in [movie].”

“Oh, you don’t say,” he rasped, surprised. “Wouldn’t have thought you’d know the name! Always good to see young people with an appreciation for decent films. Not the trash they call entertainment today.”

McCoy emerged from the store then, two elegant glass bottles in his hand. Your new friend looked him over skeptically as he handed you one with an orange label. “Here you are, my dear,” McCoy smiled. “Drink up. The lady behind the counter recommended it for medicinal purposes.” You clinked bottles with him and downed it, eager for some cold, fizzy relief in your stomach.

That relief, though, wasn’t to be. Your hand flew up to your mouth as the flavor of something like expired cough syrup and ashtray flooded your palate. The elderly man watched, a smirk on his face, as you attempted a smile. “Oh, yeah...that hits the spot. Thank you, doc.”

“Oh, good. I figured you wouldn’t want anything too sweet.”

Damn it, that black coffee white lie was really coming back to haunt you. “Yeah, thanks. That was very thoughtful of you.” Maybe you could sneak a sip of his Coke if he looked away long enough.

“All these people,” the old man mused, pointing at the crowd. “They got no idea what they’re messin’ with.”

You nodded, wincing a little as you realized the amount of fallout he had probably been exposed to already.

“Bad enough using it in the war, but now right here in our backyard.” He shook his head.

“You don’t agree with it?“

“Hell, no,” he growled. “But it’s hardly my choice. This country belongs to them now, and they’ll do as they please. Reap the whirlwind and so on. There’s odd things happening already.”

You didn’t say anything to this, too busy trying to negotiate a peace treaty between your thirst and your tastebuds to pay too close of attention, until you realized he was looking at you expectantly.

“Oh. Odd things?”

“Mm, mm-mm!” He waved his hand. “Can’t get into it. See, my daughter runs this store, says my ‘conspiracy theories are scaring off her business.’” He paused and looked over his glasses at you and McCoy again, like he was sizing up whether you might be the right kind of crackpots to appreciate what he had to share.

Apparently you looked the part, because he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially to you and the CMO.

“They took him away and I kept my mouth shut, but I seen it too.” He nodded.

“Him? What did you see?” McCoy asked.

“Dad...” A woman’s voice from inside the store called out wearily.

The older man lowered his voice but continued. “Right here, not 3 feet from where we’re sitting, right next to that creosote bush, I seen a man come” — he paused to wave his hand in front of his face dramatically — “right out of _nowhere_.”

You looked at McCoy. “A man? What did he look like?”

“A man!” he said. “About yay tall, brown hair, glasses, just as common as can be. Turquoise watch on his hand. Damn near scares the daylights out of me just thinking about it.”

You inhaled sharply at the words “turquoise watch,” remembering the gift you and your colleagues had pooled your credits to buy and have engraved for Jon’s tenure celebration. McCoy pressed further.

“Scares you?”

“Well, he looked just like anyone. You know if they can take our form just like that, they can do anything they want. It’s just a matter of time til they start taking over our cities, our police, our government. And who’s to say they haven’t already?” He nodded again and sat back in his chair, as though resting his case.

“Who are they?” you couldn’t resist asking.

He looked at you like you were feeble-minded. “Who do you think? The visitors, of course, the aliens. Who else?”

You fought down a smirk, thinking of just how close one of those “visitors” was and how little he cared about conquering Earth.

“This man,” McCoy said. “What happened to him?”

“Oh, well, he bought himself a bus ticket and left, just as simple as you please.”

“Any idea where to?”

“It drove off south, so probably that neon Gomorrah up the road there, same as the rest of them.” He looked at you and McCoy, arms crossed defensively. “Oh, you think I’m touched, but I wasn’t the only one to see it. One of those soldiers from the base did, too. And he tried to tell people, but the men in white suits came and took him away. Probably in on it, too.”

“You didn’t back him up?”

”I’m not quite as dumb as I look, son. If they didn’t believe him, you think they’ll believe me? I know when to keep my mouth shut. And if you know what’s good for you, you will too.” He looked back and forth between you, scowled, and placed his fedora on his face, leaning back against the storefront again.

McCoy nodded at you to go rejoin the others. “What do you make of that?” he asked as you walked.

“That really sounds like Jon. The watch detail especially.” You sighed. “Knowing him, he probably panicked when he was seen like that and made a run for it.”

“Jim, I think we may have hit on something,” McCoy called to the others, briefing Kirk and Spock on what you’d just learned.

“Blast it. Are you serious? So, he didn’t go on base at all?”

“It doesn’t sound like it, sir,” you said. “The man over there said he just got right on the bus. And honestly, that doesn’t sound too far out of character for him. He--”

“Blast it. Why in hell did he leave?”

“Well,” you started, but Kirk waved you off and turned to Spock, who raised an eyebrow at the gesture.

“Difficult to tell, captain,” Spock said. “Perhaps he did not have the appropriate protective gear or some other necessary object and went into the city to get it. This village seems to be limited in its resources.”

“Hmm. Pity he didn’t bring the lieutenant here with him to begin with.” Kirk shook his head. “Blast it, one of the biggest cities in North America. God knows where he’ll be now.” 

“Y/LN.”

“What?” Kirk looked at you.

“My name is Y/LN, sir. And it may not be exactly that bad. Las Vegas really isn’t all that big in this era.”

Kirk looked at you like you were out of your mind. “Everyone from here to the Gamma Quadrant has heard of Las Vegas, of course it’s big. It was legendary in its day, one of the most famous cities on Earth.”

“In its day, yes! This isn’t its day yet. It won’t be for another 70 years.”

Kirk looked a little taken aback by your change of tone, and you took a breath. “Captain, you’re probably thinking of the Las Vegas of the mid-21st century, at its population peak. Right now, it’s much smaller, only about 75,000 people.”

“That’s still a lot of people, lieu--, Y/N.”

“Yes, but it’s a lot more manageable. With all due respect, I think you’re looking at this like it’s a New York or a Mumbai. It’s not.”

Kirk shook his head. “But even in the 20th century, there are stories, legends...I just find it hard to believ--.”

“Yes, it was famous, even this far back. But just because something is loud and gets your attention doesn’t necessarily make it big.”

“Would you mind explaining why you’re looking at me, Spock?” McCoy asked.

Kirk smiled and relaxed a little. “Well, what’s your recommendation, Y/LN?”

“I recommend we get downtown ASAP and start asking questions there. Another good thing is, at this point, almost all of the locals are tied to the gaming industry in some way, which should make it easier for us to find things out. Jon is a sociable guy — I do know him personally — so he’s probably talked to a few people by now. We’re probably going to want a car eventually, but for right now, I think we should follow his exact footsteps.”

“We don’t know what those steps lead to, though, Y/LN. They could lead to death.”

“True. But it’s also our best chance of getting a lead. Straying too far from his path means less chance of finding someone who saw him, and the longer we’re here, the more we risk changing history.”

“Logical,” Spock commented. “I agree with Lt. Y/LN, Captain. And if we will be gathering intelligence from the locals, it also would make sense for us to divide into teams so we cover more ground.”

“Noted. Alright, let’s get on that bus and see what we find.”

“Wait,” you interjected. “We didn’t talk about this yet, but we should also probably think of a story for who we are and keep it consistent. Since I have this ring, it’s probably a good idea for one of you and me to pose as a married couple. I know it’s awkward, but otherwise, a single woman traveling with three men is going to raise some eyebrows. That kind of work wasn’t legal in most of the U.S. until the 21st century,” you explained.

Kirk smiled. “Alright, lieutenant. Do you have a preference?”

You did, of course, have a preference — an extremely strong one — but with all eyes on you, you chickened out. “Um, I’ll let you make that call, sir.”

“Captain, might I make a suggestion?”

“Why not, Spock, everyone else is. Go ahead.”

“You and I worked together quite effectively in 1930. No doubt we would do so here as well. More so than Dr. McCoy and I would at any rate.”

McCoy opened his mouth to snark, but Kirk hushed him and bade Spock continue.

“I suggest you pair Y/LN with the good doctor. Her expertise in this period of history should enable them to gather information efficiently. She also seems to have a calming effect on his emotional outbursts.”

Kirk considered for a moment. “That works for me. McCoy, Y/LN?”

You fought down the impulse to grin like a fool and just nodded. “Fine by me, sir.”

With that settled, the four of you purchased tickets on the next bus to downtown, which was getting ready to depart. When you got to the door to board, McCoy stopped and waved you ahead of him with one hand, the other gentle and warm on the small of your back. “After you, my dear,” he said, a twinkle in his eye that you weren’t completely sure how to interpret. It suddenly dawned on you exactly how much time you were probably going to be spending with this man, and that a good portion of it was going to be one-on-one. You swallowed hard, smiled back, and stepped up onto the bus.


	5. Headway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader and her companions reach the Strip and make a little progress, no thanks to the subject of their mission.

The bus ride down US-95 was stuffy, smoky, and miserable, but it gave you your second lead. The Mansfield-haired, bullet-brad associate behind the counter at the Ogden Street station downtown described a man who had come in a couple of weeks earlier and matched Moore’s description perfectly, right down to the turquoise watch. She only remembered him, she said, because he had looked so nervous and uncomfortable, like he was on the verge of fainting from heatstroke. She’d wanted to call him an ambulance, in fact, but he’d refused medical attention, only accepting an aspirin and the name of the casino with the best pool complex in town — weirdly enough, a brand-new, space-themed resort called the Stardust.

“Where is this place? How can we get there?” Kirk asked her.

“Oh, it’s a little ways outside of town, honey. Over on the Strip. You can take a connecting ride over there, they have their own station. Or, I could give you a ride there myself when my shift is through.” She winked and leaned forward, clasping her arms a little tighter so her cleavage was maximally enticing and twirling a piece of gum around her pinky.

You wouldn’t have minded leading this lady on a little if it meant a more comfortable ride, but Kirk had little interest in her offer or her rounded ears. “Thank you, ma’am, that’s very helpful. Four tickets, please.”

With mutual disappointment, you handed her a replicated 5-dollar bill and she passed back four tickets for a second ride on the Marlboro Express, this time straight to the Las Vegas Strip.

~~~~~

This second bus ride was at least quieter than the first, giving you some headspace to think and also enjoy the scenery, both inside and outside the bus. Because of your earlier nausea, McCoy had encouraged you to take the window seat again, but he was looking outside with as much interest as you were (and, in the process, leaning right up against you).

“As much as I hate to use the word, this is fascinating,” he said.

You turned and smiled, the closeness of his face making you a bit bashful. “It really is. It must have been a sight at its peak.”

“When was that?”

“Depends on your perspective, I guess. But population-wise, probably mid-21st century. The golden age of the resorts, though — Viva Las Vegas and all that — that’s just getting started now.”

“And how much of it is left in our time?”

“Not much. Have you ever visited the ruins?”

“No, you?”

You nodded. “Jon and I were part of a research effort here last year. Same area of study as the one he came here for. I’m not sure how useful it was, they didn’t do much to preserve anything for years after, but a lot of the foundations and flood tunnels are still intact. The real holy grail is the underground home someone built as a bomb shelter in the 1960s, but no one’s been able to actually locate it yet.”

“Mm, interesting.” He tilted his head. “You’ve, ah, worked a lot with Moore, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. We both specialize in the same area, and history isn’t a very big field in Starfleet, so we’ve collaborated on a few things.”

“He must think pretty highly of you to make you his only contact.”

“That did surprise me a little,” you said thoughtfully. “But I guess maybe it shouldn’t have. He doesn’t have much in the way of family, and he’s more than just a colleague. I guess you could say a mentor. And a friend. My family wasn’t too crazy about me studying anything in the Humanities, but he’s always been there to back me up and encourage me when I needed it.”

McCoy tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “No, not like that,” you clarified. “Like I said, it’s a smaller field, and it’s harder to get tenure and funding, so people tend to get to know each other and have each other’s back. I knew Marla McIvers a bit. And, um, I’m pretty sure I knew your ex as well.” You smiled and raised your eyebrows.

McCoy looked surprised. “ _My_ ex?”

“Nancy Pagano? Or Crater, I guess. I remember she got married shortly after that.”

“How on earth did you meet Nancy? She was out on M-113 for years.”

“Well, this was a while ago, my first semester at the Academy. She was teaching a course in ancient ship architecture, and it looked interesting, so I took it as an elective. That’s actually what made me decide for sure to get into this field. Before then, I was leaning toward communications.”

“That’s crazy. I had no idea you knew her.” He paused. “So, I guess you know what happened, then. On M-113, I mean.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I was really sorry to hear it.” McCoy looked down, no doubt thinking of his own final memories, the creature that had killed Nancy and then took her appearance right before he’d had to save Kirk from it. “She, um, mentioned you once or twice, you know.”

“She did?”

“Uh huh. You can relax, though. It was all good things.”

“Bless her. She’s one of the few who could find that many good things to even mention.” He chuckled and peeked down at you out of the side of his eye, as though hoping you might contradict that.

”Yeah, although I was a little surprised when I first met you on board there. It was kind of hard to reconcile the guy yelling about test tube protocol with the one stuffing fruit down someone’s shirt in an orchard,” you teased. 

“She told you about _that_?” His face flushed bright red.

“Yep. She tied it to something she was explaining in a lesson, though I couldn’t tell you what. The story itself was memorable, though.”

”I’ll bet.” His face was still flushed. “I’m, ah, almost afraid to ask what you think of me now,” he chuckled.

You shrugged. “Oh, I guess I could probably think of one or two nice things to say.” He turned his head and looked down at you with that blue-eyed smirk and you lost your train of thought completely. Thankfully, the bus lurched around a corner then, and he cleared his throat and changed the subject.

“Well, I hope your friend is alright.”

“Me, too.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” he affirmed. “From what that gal back there said, he’s probably lounging by the pool with a pina colada. I’ll probably be back in Sickbay chasing crew members with vaccinations before I know it.”

“Hmm. Hopefully.”

“Oh? You sounded pretty optimistic back there with the captain.”

“Well, I might’ve gotten a little carried away,” you admitted. “He didn’t seem like he would’ve had much patience for ambiguities. I meant what I said about the smaller population and the networking — all of that’s true — but I’m not sure it’s going to be quite that easy. Especially since it kind of sounds like Jon made at least a couple of detours. We’ll see, though.”

Thankfully, the bus turned into a parking lot before you had to dwell on this train of thought much longer. The driver announced your arrival at your destination over the speaker, and your group stepped off and back into the dry heat.

~~~~~

The Las Vegas resorts of the early Atomic Age were a pretty far cry from the casino-hotels of your day. Instead of 100 stories of polished Risian glass and grace, the first edition of the Stardust Hotel & Casino was a squat three stories at its absolute tallest, albeit spread out over way more acreage. What the building lacked in height, though, it made up for in attitude and style. A long electric sign bedecked with colorful replicas of planets spanned the front of the structure, announcing the resort’s name in aggressive-looking Googie font. Jutting out from the very middle of the thing was a huge, shiny replica of Earth, surrounded for some reason by Saturnian rings. Also positioned around the property like lost tourists were a number of moai, each almost as tall as the resort, probably in homage to the tiki-themed restaurant next door. In just a few more years, the decor would look terribly outdated, but it was incredible to see it first-hand in its original form, and you were eager to get inside and see more.

You glanced back at your companions just in time to catch the subtle “time to fuck with McCoy” expression flitting across Spock’s face. “Fascinating,” he remarked. “Your Earth men actually believed their planet had rings.”

“They did not, Spock, the rings would be visible from here. Even humans in the Dark Ages would’ve understood that.”

“Apparently not, doctor. Otherwise how do you explain your Earth’s depiction on the sign?”

“It’s called artistic license. You wouldn’t understand it, those mathematically perfect brain waves of yours couldn’t--”

“Gentlemen, please.” Kirk snagged the three of you and physically pulled you out of the way of traffic and toward the shade of the porte-cochere. “Before we go in, everyone remember, we’re here on a rescue mission, not a vacation. We’ve got to find Moore and find him fast, without causing any unnecessary changes. This means no gambling, no unnecessary conversations, no nothing unless it serves a constructive purpose. Are we absolutely clear on this?” You all nodded an assent.

“Captain, might I suggest we start by finding lodging. It appears we may be here overnight, and I’ll need a private place to use the computer.”

“Hm, yes, a home base. I agree.” To your surprise, Kirk turned to you. “Y/LN, what can you tell us about this resort? Is it a safe place for us to stay?”

You considered. “For the most part. This one does have more ties to the mob than some of the others, though. It might be better to stay at the smaller hotel next door. It would draw less attention, especially since we’re using replicated money.”

“That sounds like a good plan. I’ll put you and McCoy in charge of getting us those rooms. Let us know when they’re ready.” Kirk paused and rubbed his hands together, a smile finally finding its way to his face. “Come on, Spock. While they do that, you and I can ‘case the joint,’ as they say.” The captain and his first officer headed inside, a tantalizing gust of refrigerated air hitting you as the door slid shut behind them, leaving you once again alone with the CMO.

“He seems to be catching on quickly,” you remarked as the two of you trekked across the parking lot toward the building next door, an even shorter but more elegant building with a massive crown on its roof.

“Ah. Yeah. We spent some time on a 1930s-era planet a while back. Which reminds me, if we do end up having to rent a car, you should probably drive.”

“How do you know I can?”

“I don’t, but even if you can’t, it’s safer than the alternative.”

You smiled a bit. As much ambivalence as you felt about Jon’s welfare, and as crazy hot as it was, you had to admit you were enjoying this. It was the most useful you’d felt in at least months, plus you definitely couldn’t complain about the company.

Not wanting to raise any eyebrows, you let your “husband” handle the hotel reservations, taking out two adjoining rooms on the ground floor of the neighboring Royal Nevada. Like everywhere else you’d been on this mission, the place reeked of processed tobacco, but you were starting to get used to it. Once you’d checked out the rooms, you comm’d Kirk and Spock from wherever they definitely weren’t changing history, and they filled you in on what they’d learned from their recon. In addition to a confirmed fantastic pool complex, the place had 1,000 guest rooms, multiple restaurants, a nightclub, and even a drive-in theatre. All of which would no doubt make Jon even harder to find. 

To give you something to do (and probably keep the CMO off Spock’s back while he programmed the computer to maximize the tracking range of your comms), Kirk sent the two of you out to find dinner, though not before clarifying the sleeping arrangements: you and McCoy may’ve been asked to pose as a married couple in public, but behind closed doors, you were still very much going to be single. 

“Well, my dear,” McCoy said, offering you his arm. “Now that the kids are settled, what would you like to do first?”

Your cheeks heated. You weren’t sure if he was just teasing or was actually getting into this assigned role, but you could really get used to hearing that kind of thing from him. To make matters worse, the two of you had changed, and the outfit he now had on was even more flattering on him than you’d expected when replicating it. Per his request to not be dressed like Spock, and because of how much he enjoyed ancient westerns, you’d given the doctor something of a toned-down cowboy aesthetic. You’d never actually seen him in the getup before this trip, though, and the jeans, slightly unbuttoned canvas shirt, and boots suited him far too well considering you were supposed to be concentrating on an actual work mission.

You took a deep breath and took his arm, trying to put the rest out of your mind. “Well, we should probably stick to our assigned mission of food procurement.”

“Mm, you’re no fun.”

“But if you see something you’d like to do that could fit into the information-gathering agenda, we can keep it in mind for tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The next day was no doubt going to be more of this kind of thing. A little rush of adrenaline through you at the thought, and it turned into a flood when he gave your arm a little squeeze and turned that heavy-lidded smile on you. You’d been considering suggesting the lush pool complex you’d spotted from your room’s window, but if he was going to be bringing that look with him, that paired with a swimsuit might be more than you could handle.

“Y/N?” he asked. His accent was a bit stronger, though probably from fatigue at this point. 

“Yeah?”

“Along the lines of what you were saying on the bus — do you have any theories on where Moore might be? Or where we should start?”

You thought for a moment. This was where it was going to get hard. Jon’s primary interest was history, particularly 20th century, but beyond that — once you focused on the era — he was into just about everything. Sports, politics, cuisine, fashion, and a hundred other things. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he’d be still be pursuing his original mission, but given his tendency toward distraction and to letting his nerves influence his decision making, for all you knew, he’d changed the focus of the mission or had even taken a break from it and was still lounging poolside, like McCoy had said. He might even be holed up in some hotel room, working on his pet project, a biography of his favorite scientist from this era.

The doubt must’ve been showing on your face because the doctor placed a hand on your back. “Well, who knows. Maybe Spock will be able to get the comms to work and we’ll just find him that way. Maybe we’ll be back on board this time tomorrow.” He nodded toward the front door of the lobby. “Come on. We’ll feel better with some food on our stomachs.”

  
~~~~~

As fantastic as the Polynesian restaurant at the Stardust sounded, it also clearly required a dress code and a higher budget than you had. You settled instead for a small cafe with standard 1950s fare (and fortunately some vegetarian options for Spock). By the time you got back to your rooms, there was some good news — Spock had succeeded in expanding the comms’ tracking range with the computer, and your devices now reached as far as the suburb of Henderson. They still weren’t picking up much of anything but soft static, though. Kirk paced in frustration.

“Captain, we may need to prepare for the possibility that Moore’s comm has been destroyed. Or at least deactivated somehow.”

“They’re not that easy to disable, though. At least not the kind Martel said he took.”

“That is true. But the computer should be picking up a signal, and it is not. It is possible he found himself in some kind of trouble. Or—” Spock paused — “that he has left this area entirely.”

“Lieutenant,” Kirk said, turning to you. “Of all of us, you’re the only one who really knows Moore. What kind of man is he? Would he abandon his mission?”

About time for you to ask that, you thought. You considered for a moment.

“It’s hard for me to believe he would just give up completely. Jon’s tenacious, once he gets an idea in his head, he doesn’t just let it go. Not to mention he of all people would know how important this research is. I think it’s more likely something interfered with the mission — or at least he believed it did — and he decided he needed to rethink his approach.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning maybe he decided to lay low for a few days, or weeks, if he thought he was being pursued. We know he was spotted back in Indian Springs. Or, that he decided to get his data some other way. It’s possible he went back to the base, or even that he left for somewhere else, but I think it’s more likely he’s around here somewhere. Call it a hunch.”

“Do you think he might be in trouble?”

You thought and shook your head. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, it’s possible, but Jon’s disasters are...usually of his own making. I’ve really never seen anyone else take him down. Usually...he kind of does that to himself.”

A faint chirp sounded from the table behind you just then, and your heads snapped up.

“Spock, was that?”

“Yes, Captain,” the science officer confirmed, the closest thing to a Vulcan giddy smile you’d ever seen playing out across his face. “A point of contact.” The chirp sounded again, more feeble this time, but still definitely detectable.

Kirk let out a whoop and grabbed Spock by his arms. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard all day. You’re a miracle worker, Spock!”

“It appears to be gone now, Captain.”

“But it _happened_. That means the device still works and he’s alive! And it may come back. Can you tell which direction it came from?”

“Difficult to confirm, but it appears to have been east of here, near the downtown area.”

“Fine. We’ll leave this system on overnight just in case. Tomorrow, you and I will go back over there and find out more. McCoy, Y/N, you two will stick around here, just in case it comes in from a different location.” Kirk exhaled, his posture now considerably more relaxed, and started eagerly poking through the bags of food you’d brought back. “Now, finally, I have an appetite. And this salad had better be for Spock.”

Kirk wasn’t the only one feeling relieved. Later, as you finally took the shower you’d been craving all afternoon and settled down to sleep in what turned out to be a surprisingly comfortable bed, you allowed yourself to relax a bit on the assurance that even if your friend wasn’t entirely predictable, you at least would have the help of technology in finding him. Although, now that you were more optimistic about a successful rescue for Jon, you realized that part of you was hoping the mission might not wrap up _too_ immediately for some other reasons that had very little to do with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this one was worth the wait. My eyes are kind of glazed over from editing/overthinking, so I figured it’s time to send it on its way. :)


End file.
